Spineless History
by KCKidCandy
Summary: In order to save herself from flunking, Compton is given the once in a lifetime chance to make-up all her old assignments. So she's sent to the library and given a book to study with. Seems pretty normal, right? But what's with the sexy men suddenly appearing in her house? And what does any of it have to do with history? Rewrite
1. Chapter 1

I was about to shoot myself in the throat. Not in chest, or the head, or the face, or even the mouth. I was going to put a bullet straight through my goddamn throat. I had no ideas why, but the decision didn't require a lot of thought. It had been six hours and the only thing I'd done, related to schoolwork, was stare blankly at the stupid little blinking cursor on my surprisingly wordless Microsoft Word document. The rest of my 360 minutes of designated "learning time" had been spent making soft serve, driving down to the gas station for one of those magic flavored snow drinks, and working out a deal with the Yakuza to get the new Pokémon game four months before its actual release. My mother would probably lecture at me about wasting her vast wealth without her approval, but after naming me Czarina Schuben I figure I'm entitled to at least a small portion of her insane billionaire status. That wasn't really the point at the moment; however, the thought consuming me was more along the lines of how and where I was going to shoot myself in the throat.

I figured, if I was going for a truly high quality death, there was nothing better than through the jugular vein and out the other side. But, then again, I could always go for the mainstream shoot-through-the-mouth-with-a-high-caliber-gun-and-send-brain-and-skull-bits-flying-everywhere death. I was such a fucking idiot. Instead of paying some shred of attention to my insanely important task, I was contemplating suicide that I'd never have the balls to commit. However, drifty thoughts and incoherence tend to go along with marijuana. I won't lie and say I'm not a drug user. People are all like "Oh smoking a blunt isn't doing drugs." even though everybody knows pot is illegal for a reason. At least that's my philosophy, but I'm a dumbass so we can just leave it at that. I could feel my soul starting to burn inside my chest, probably due to the work I was about to have to undertake, and to avoid eternal damnation I pushed myself away from the library computer I had glared at stupidly for a countless amount of time. My thoughts got even less coherent with the lack of a point of interest.

"Miss... Compton? Uh... Have a seat please." I gave my vice principal a blank, slotted eye, stare. He looked amazingly concerned, but not enough to actually get off his fat ass and call the cops for my obviously higher than Jesus state. He hadn't reported me for my hundreds of truancies, he hadn't reported me for selling serious drugs to other students, and he hadn't even called me into his office when I slapped his daughter in the face. Not that I had any issue with that, I just felt like brutally criticizing the way he worked. Or maybe I just felt really high, who could tell? But that wasn't the point at the moment; the issue at hand was my grades. They weren't just "Oh, this poor girl is stupid but still trying." grades, they were "Holy fuck this child is an idiot with no ambition who will ultimately destroy the world by starting an accidental nuclear war with Russia." or at least that was how the rest of the world saw it.

I didn't have any issue with how they saw my future other than their whole Russia thing. I might start a nuclear war with Canada, I know what you're thinking but believe me they have been far too quiet for far too long the era of the bloody maple leaf is coming sooner than you may think; it's red for a reason. I lived in Russia for ten years, I was born there, and Russia loved me. But, then again, my family ran the single largest drug cartel in the country so the people may have been just a little sour towards us. Not the junkies though! Drug addicts love us. It was at about this point that I realized my vice principal had delivered his entire speech without me even hearing him. Apparently, I'd also sat down in his baby vomit chartreuse you're-in-deep-shit chair.

"So... Yeah. Good chat, alright! I'll see you on the flip side, right bro?" I could see the words coming out of my mouth at the moment, which was why I chose such annoyingly horrible ones. The vice principal gave me disappointed glare. I sat back down in the you're-in-deep-shit chair, feeling like I was pretty much in deep shit.

"You didn't hear a word I said, did you, Cz... A... Rrr... Compton?" he couldn't pronounce my real name. I took offense to that. But only for about three seconds because I remembered I couldn't either. Not even when I was sober. I was downright scared to say it for fear I would end up summoning an ancient Indian spirit from the beyond the grave or an astral beast that would destroy the world. But the creepiest thing about my principal experience was that he decided using my nickname was the best choice of action. All freaky thoughts about him stalking me aside, how did he even know what kids called me? And it was really only one class that granted me my nickname when I walked into sixth period and rapped 'Straight Outta Compton' in Russian for no apparent reason.

I was suddenly very concerned about my home security. And then very concerned about the panda population. Two things became very apparent after that thought. One; I should have totally adopted a pet panda, and two; I was really, really, really high. The vice principal cleared his throat so loudly two mountains in Alaska fell to their demise, crushing poor Tuktuk the eskimo and his sexy wife, Melinda Rodriguez. It took me a shameful minute to realize that was meant to call me to attention and not crush the dreams of an innocent Inuit and his attractive Hispanic wife. My bloodshot eyes traveled back up to the furious vice principal. Apparently I'd been staring at the ground and drooling for quite a while now. I wiped dried saliva off my chin with the sleeve of my black turtleneck. Not the best idea I'd had in the past seventeen years. Not the best by a long shot according to the expression on Mr. Vice Principal's face. He began to repeat what I'd missed over the past few hours,

"Compton, you're grades suck cock. Pardon my language, but it's the simple truth. There is absolutely no possibility of actually finishing high school this year. Unless you do a little something for us." the glorious buzz traveling through my mind dissipated immediately. He continued speaking,

"First, you'll make a three thousand dollar donation of money you have earned with the help of nobody else. Second, you'll come to school for at least six consecutive weeks. And third, you will make-up every single test and every last paper you failed to turn in from your freshman year to your senior year. All of these requirements must be met before summer vacation begins, meaning you've got ninety days to finish all of your work, donate all of your money, and come to school for thirty days with no break. If these tasks are not completed within the slotted time, I will fail you just before I turn you over to the police for both drug possession and truancy. Do we have a deal?"

And the moment I said yes was the moment I became extremely tempted to shoot myself in the throat and end my terrible life. Vice Principal Whatever-The-Fuck-His-Name-Is too me to get my ass up to the library and talk to the guy who worked there. Apparently, I would have to do the unthinkable for this test. I would have to read. I hadn't read in almost four years, I didn't think it mattered. I'd been able to pass up until now; common sense normally sort of took over and allowed me to finish most of my assignments with sort-of passing grades. But everyone was taking it so easily as a senior I said "Why the fuck not?" and ended up skipping almost every day of school since the beginning of the year. I had managed to turn in almost all my homework for classes like math and science and all that but there were two subjects that literally made me die inside. History and English. The way the teachers tried to coincide with each other and make on big mass of boring information so large it could force even the strongest man to take his own life. And that wasn't even the worst of it.

Just thinking about history made me want to curl up into a ball and decompose into simple nothingness. It was the only class in which you could literally DIE of boredom. I put my thin legs up on the side of the table and pushed off, utilizing the full potential of my wonderful spinny chair to launch me off into a world excitement. This place was better known as The World Devoid of History and English. But the second I rammed into a bookcase and slammed my not-so-very-sexy face into the floor I was flung back to reality. Unfortunately, it seemed as though I'd brought a creature back from the world of excitement because just in front of my now even less sexy face a pair of neon, argyle socks was covering and exposed set of wrinkly, hairy, old man knees.

To avoid catching the full frontal view, which I assumed could easily be seen just up the leg of the old man's pink, plaid shorts, I threw myself at the bookshelf now smeared lightly with my very own nose blood. Above the argyle socks and plaid shorts was an extremely tight purple and black striped shirt, embracing his torso so heavily his man boobs appeared larger than mine. Not that I had much to hold my own against with two stunningly, impressively, positively, real A-cups. It was honestly a wonder that I had any breasts at all. However, with the appearance of this strange thing occurring just before me, my tiny titties were not exactly what I was focused on.

"Eh-heh! You're the stupid girl! Come on; follow me to your textbooks! I know you idiots can't read too well, but give it a go! You can claim to be from another country all you want, all you Russians are good for is nuclear weaponry and thick eyebrows! Better than them French though! All they can do is run away!" I should have called the fashion police on him right then and there. Not just poorly dressed but racist too. What a winner of a librarian we picked! He was probably duel wielding confederate flags, judging by his southern accent. I had to admit, he had a voice that would put an old forty-niner's to shame. And his racial slurs were also pretty accurate. I'd been to France once on vacation. I ended up demolishing the flag of Norway and vowing that, for as long as I remained alive, I would never travel back to such a place again.

Even though every bone in my body was screaming "It's a trap, you dumbass! Get outta here!" I continued following crazy old guy through our insanely expansive library. That was what you got when you went to the richest school in the country. Thank my crazy, drug selling, Russian, mob boss father for all the money he made us before getting thrown off a rooftop. Not that he died from that, he actually lived through it twice with no real health issues, too. He died via polar bear attack. No mob connection whatsoever, just an unfortunate ice fishing incident. Now my mom just sort of travels the world out of boredom while I hang out here until I finish high school. Unfortunately, I might die before that's ever achieved. I want to die before that's ever achieved. I'll _die_ before I write anything positive about Norway. _NEVER WILL THIS OCCUR_.

My thoughts changed from rampant Norway hatred to concerned and frenzied paranoia about where I was headed. We appeared to be heading straight down that hole people got kicked into in Sparta for declaring that something was madness. All pot brained Compton thoughts aside, it really was a hole in the middle of the library with a staircase traveling down it and a sign that said 'Restricted: entrance will sell your soul to Satan.' I was questioning more than the old man's racism and fashion sense by this point. Not like I was in any position to judge someone's sanity. And while I began to contemplate more and more about just what the hole was for, I failed to realize I was being dragged into it. Literally dragged. He had just grabbed my collar and forced me into his hole. Please ignore how inappropriate that sounded. I noticed a set of torches appear on the wall as we climbed deeper and deeper, illuminating this insanely creepy rape dungeon. He grabbed an unlit stick off the wall and smiled. Crazy Old Man Guy snapped his fingers, continuing to stare at the oily cloth covering the wood he held. I opened my mouth to make a hilarious and meticulously thought out joke, because we all know I think things out so well, but clamped it shut as the fabric ignited.

And just like that he went from Crazy Old Man Guy to Jesus Lord of Flame. Lord be praised! My adventures as an African American preacher ended abruptly as I was plucked off the ground by my collar and thrown down uneven stone steps into total darkness. I felt like I was living in a crudely made horror film. Fortunately enough for this girl, the lights weren't flickering on and off which meant Becky was going to get whacked first. In fact, the lights were pretty well done. Eco-friendly too. Praise Jesus Lord of Flame! I picked myself off the floor and glanced at the surroundings. We had entered a chasm of sorts that held nothing but a couple of bookshelves and a few light bulbs, yet it stunk of mildew and rotting flesh. I would have questioned the rotting meat scent a little more had I not been so busy glaring at the boring collection of stories. None of them seemed to stand out, but there was one shelf that had been made to draw attention.

It was filled to the brim with guides like _'Samantha's Home Cooked Recipes_' and touching memoirs such as _'Memories From Beyond Me'_ but none of them were seated on the back of a golden eagle. Yes, an eagle book stand forged entirely from gold. And the collection of mold dusted pages seated on it held the glorious name _'Spiny Future'_. No, wait. That wasn't right. I dusted off the front cover a little with my already spit soiled sleeve to reveal the true title, _'Spineless History'_. Much more climactic I was glad it wasn't a book about the future being full of spine. Or whatever the word spiny meant, I hadn't read in a really long time don't judge me. Jesus Lord of Flame appeared out of nowhere, much like a messiah might I add, and thrust the book into my arms.

"Read this book and complete thine assignments! Do not act like a Spaniard and procrastinate until the last possible second, be anal like the Swiss! Good luck, my disciple." the man disappeared in a plume of flame, never to be seen again! My god was I high, the mold growing in here must've been hallucinogenic or something. Jesus Lord of Flame, or JLF as he shalt now be known, appeared back in about four seconds and led me successfully out of his rape dungeon just in time for me to get the fuck out of there.

XxXxXxX

I unlocked the door to my home without too much excitement. Hallucinogenic mold was fun and all but getting this stupid book was beginning to make me remember that I had about thirty tests to study for and around twenty five enormous reports to complete. And I had the sinking feeling one would include Norway. It was the only country I wished death upon, but no quick painless death. I wanted Norway and all the stupid Norwegians to starve to death as kickass Swedish and Danish Vikings tore down the very fabric of their society! I only knew things about history for the sake of picturing Norway's slow and painful demise. I shoved through the wooden barrier only to be hit by a stench the likes of which hadn't been smelt in years.

It had been months since I cleaned out my refrigerator and the odors of putrefied chicken and spoiled milk were beginning to get to me. I waved it off and pressed forwards. The enormous home that unfolded before me was nothing compared to the ones surrounding it. Our mansion was frowned upon in the East Oak Field district, called an eyesore by some and a piece of shit by others. But it wasn't my fault my mom had intricate tastes. She was the one who had painted the flag of every country, minus Norway which had been mysteriously destroyed with a sharpie as black as the souls of the Norwegians, on the facade of our mansion.

The inside of the house was the real thing our neighbors complained about, however. It was pretty much the poster boy for the show 'Hoarders'. The entire floor plan was covered in a fine layer of dust, dirt or general filth and towers forged of cola and energy drink cans stood high amongst candy wrappers and empty food containers. I threw my book into the corner sharply, lacking any dash of foresight that might have told me I was going to knock over my favorite empty can tower. This assignment was going to kill me. I trudged over and retrieved my reading material; trying to decide whether to snort its hallucinogenic mold or crack its untold riches open. It made more sense to read it before I got high off of it and with that decision made I pulled the cover open before flipping to a random page. And that was when I discovered the book was written in Italian. Fucking perfect. I could speak English and Russian fluently, but I had no grasp of Italian. Plus, Italy was pretty much the most useless country in the world aside from France. I won't even begin to speak about Norway, just to save you people the searing pain of my cruel words. The point in case was that I couldn't speak Italian. But I had to read this book at some point, so I figured I should have given it a little effort.

"Il... Grande reg? Grande regno... D-di? Prussia..." great. I had no idea what I'd just said. Absolutely no clue. And just like that the book went flying back into my now demolished can tower. I slumped over to my kitchen, defeated and discouraged and other synonyms for sad that start with D. A loud clang rang through the first floor of my house. I grabbed the nearest weapon I could find. It just so happened to be my favorite table lamp, the most gorgeous illumination creation in the world of light fixtures. Another clatter shook the foundation of my home. It was coming from my kitchen; it sounded a lot like someone trying to loot someone's home. My home. Nobody pillaged the village of Compton. I crept up to the granite countertop as slowly and as ninja-like as possible. A few booming clanks later I peered over my counter, lamp in hand. There he was. Someone in a navy blue uniform. Someone with white hair and pale skin. Someone with red eyes.

Someone about to get hit in the face with a lamp.

* * *

_**I AM SO GODDAMN SORRY. I had to leave right away for my trip to Europe and then went straight from the airport to Newport Beach with my mom and brother. I had literally ZERO time to write, I got home just todayand wrote my ass off, so please accept my apology in the form of over three thousand words of the new rewrite! I'll have the second chapter up by tuesday, I PROMISE YOU THIS. Oh, and just so you all know, the dirty Hetalia jokes were PLENTIFUL during my trip. Thanks so fucking much for sticking in and reading, again I'm super sorry!**_

_**~KC**_


	2. Chapter 2

"OH MEIN GOTT." the albino screeched as I charged towards him. Fortunately for me, the lamp cracked into a billion pieces on contact. Unfortunately for me, the contact point wasn't the robber's face. It was my enormous refrigerator which sat about twenty feet away from the albino I was feverishly attempting to fight. Needless to say, I had both terrible fighting skills and terrible hand-eye coordination. Having me do anything but lay around and get high was really not a good idea. It was obviously pretty dangerous to all food cooling devices in a twenty foot radius because when I whipped around to body slam my opponent, I only succeeded in punching a cooler filled with beer. I liked to drink to. But it would be a punch in the face to my ancestors if I didn't. I was the product of Russian born Dmitry Petrocov and German born Helga Schuben. Very stereotypical names for a consistently vodka buzzed man and a woman who would literally kill for bratwurst. I don't know why I thought it would be a good idea to think about my heritage during a fight, so I attempted to regain my hold on the situation.

Somehow, in my hazy ancestoral day dream time, I'd managed to get put in a full on headlock by blue uniform man. I clawed at his hands for freedom but only ended up tearing my pinky nail off and getting blood on the sleeves of his uniform. He didn't seem to mind. This scared me. I made it a top priority to start kicking him in the crotch. His response to my well planned and quality attack was to swing me between his legs and clamp down on my waist with his skinny man thighs whilst continuing to strangle me. Now it became very apparent I was to be losing my virginity via rape very soon. In reality he just wanted to get even with me for trying to hit him with a lamp, but I didn't know that. So a calm executive decision was made and I freed one of my arms long enough to punch him in the balls. But, in some random twist of magic, I ended up ripping the door off my very expensive refrigerator. Either this guy was from Street Fighter or I was terrible at life. Probably the latter thought because obviously I'm not the best at performing cognitive actions, let alone physical ones that didn't involve getting high and/or fighting my dog for a half eaten, week old donut with Easter sprinkles on it. It wasn't the donut, it never had been, it was all about the garnish. Which in this case happened to be shittily forged purple rabbit sprinkles floating in a sea of pink and yellow eggs.

"Gilbird! Attack!" albino blue uniform man roared. Aside from the earlier bout of crazy foreign screaming, I would put some serious money on saying he was some sort of German judging by his accent. Almost like he originated from a mix of some sort of smoky Baltic language and a Germanic dialect. Or maybe he was French. I had no fucking clue, I didn't even know what dialect meant. All I knew was that a crazy puff of yellow feathers that seriously appeared out of thin air was nosediving straight down my shirt. I didn't even have time to question this wondrous new advancement in the storyline because albino blue uniform man's crazy bird pet literally bit my boob. Not like there was much to nibble on, but I will tell you right now you don't know pain until you've been bitten in the breast by a chick.

And just because that might have sounded the slightest bit sexual, get your mind out of the gutter because that shit hurts. Somehow, whether a wizard smiled at me from above or not, I managed to stun blue uniform man with a deafening scream just long enough for me to make my escape. I rammed through a sliding glass door, successfully dislocating my right shoulder, only to misstep and have a bone crushing meeting with my hot tub. But, with the determination of someone told they can't do something, I dragged my soaking wet ass through the almost forest behind my house. It was then I realized that I had entirely forgotten about the ten foot tall fence caging my backyard. A fence absolutely impossible to climb with both arms.

Blue uniform man had cornered me anyway so it wasn't like I would have been able to escape in the first place. I turned my attention back to him, defeated, bruised, and really fucking cold after the hot tub incident. Not to mention the Heat is on was still stuck in my head from our not so amazing chase scene. Because everyone knows that song is the anthem to anyone or anything running from anyone or anything else. But that wasn't really relevant in any way and had only been mentioned because it was funny so let's return to blue uniform man. I was getting a much better view of him now that he was standing over me.

He had spiky white hair and crimson colored eyes. His face had a manly build to it but nothing too insanely fierce and he was generally a pretty muscly guy. Not like some bursting-out-of-a-speedo-I-am-on-so-many-steroids-I-have-more-than-one-penis bodybuilder, but he looked like he had been in his fair share of battles. He wore a navy blue uniform that looked like it had been pulled straight from some war movie with a pair of shiny black boots. And to top off my German guy theory, he had substituted an iron cross for a neck tie. So now he was Nazi Albino Blue Uniform Guy. Which was just fan-fucking-tastic.

"Shit... You caught me! Take whatever you want, just don't rape me!" I folded like an Italian. He shot me a disgusted look. Things didn't seem to be going well for me.

"I'm not gay." he grumbled. Great. Now Nazi Albino Blue Uniform Guy thought I was a little boy. Priceless. This day keeps getting better.

"I'm a girl." this prompted a bout of hysterics. Blue Uniform started laughing so hard he literally fell on the ground. Mark my self esteem back to zero. Not that it mattered anyway, I wasn't really looking for love. Come to think of it, in all my years of life I'd never had a boyfriend, been asked out, or been kissed. Which was weird. I still lacked the ability to give a shit though, probably because I was about to slap incredibly handsome uniform man. But, on my mission to claim his soul for laughing at me in such a cruel way, he pulled out a gun and aimed it right between my eyes. While simultaneously laughing his ass off.

"This entire house is mine now, Schwächling." he brushed off his uniform endearingly, "And if you try to take it back The Great Prussia will destroy you with his awesome power." and that was how I lost my monumental home to an albino nazi in a blue uniform that just so happened to be the physical embodiment of a kingdom named Prussia. So, needless to say after this event occurred, I passed the fuck out in my favorite inchworm position.

XxXxXxXxXx

"Oh, France, I think she's dead."

"Dead?"

"Si, it's too bad, huh?"

"Nonsense, the warmth of my eternal love will bring her back to life!" just a quick question before we finish up the story here, have you ever been woken up by a Frenchman? No? Well, allow me to describe the experience. It's like being leg-humped by a wet dog drenched in cologne. Now, maybe it's just because I hate the French so much, but I'd say it's more likely because that's the exact definition of the event.

I wasn't anywhere near lucid enough to hear the men above me clearly enough to discern their accents. But, the moment my eyelids fluttered open, it became very obvious that I, Czarina Ludwig Schuben, had officially received my first kiss. Making the entire day into even more of a clusterfuck. My rapist was, however, smacked as hard as physically possible for a female of my stature.

"WHAT. THE. LITERAL. FUCK." I hadn't really expected my fury to be this great, but who gave a damn at this point. After a quick glance around I discovered that the two men standing in confusion in front of me had brought me to one of the bedrooms in my home. I was a little distracted by the insanely attractive men surrounding me, though, so I found it a hell of a lot more important to describe them than my room. The man that I'd slapped looked just as French as his accent.

He had annoyingly long blonde hair that reached down to his cape covered shoulders and infuriatingly blue eyes. He'd tied his locks back with a little red ribbon I'm sure he found absolutely darling and his eyelashes were so unreasonably long I was positive he put them in a ponytail when he had to work. Which was probably never. His outfit looked like what would happen if a military man got lost in an extra colorful Claire's Boutique. Not that being more colorful was even possible for that store. The point of the matter was that this crazed Frenchman was wearing bright blues and reds with his purple cloak. I had figured that these men were going to be dressed in some sort of vaguely practical military clothing.

The one on the right wasn't even in a uniform. His ensemble consisted of a loose white shirt with a criss-cross tie at the neckline and a pair of dirt colored pants. He sounded Spanish to me, but I had no experience with Hispanic accents so how the fuck would I know? But, discovering that he was absolutely gorgeous pretty much made me not care. My new possible Spaniard friend had a carefree expression permanently plastered on his face, even as he prodded the Frenchman with a stick he had inexplicably obtained from God knows where.

His emerald eyes remained joyously shut for a good portion of the poking session but occasionally he'd allow them to float up to reality and glance around the room. This wonderful way of testing whether my furious slap had slain the Frenchman or not continued for about five minutes before the possible Spaniard decided it was time to reach a conclusion. Strangely enough, I was excited to hear possible Spaniard's verdict.

"He's not dead, he just went into shock from being rejected, that's all." the doe-eyed man smiled and nodded, approving his own diagnosis. Unfortunately, possible Spaniard had given some pretty accurate information about Frenchman. And that thought spurred me into the realization that there were now three robbers in my home as apposed to just one Nazi albino with no reason to hate me because I wasn't Jewish. But something didn't really stack up. Why would they have brought me to a bed if they were going to rob me blind? I mean, unless they had some crazy rape fetish thing going on, that wasn't how thieves acted.

Plus, Frenchman had passed out after getting slapped by a tiny girl with literally no muscle tone of any shape, size, or color. You would think Albino Nazi would at least have a few strong friends to help him completely pillage my home. Not to mention he'd called himself something weird before I fainted. Something I had heard somewhere before... Something that didn't fit a human... Prussia! That was a Goddamn country! Not a name! And the way he referred to himself as The Great Prussia and his weird uniform and unheard of accent. Nobody wore a discontinued military outfit in these days and times, not to mention he could get sued for talking about an iron cross, let alone wearing one like it was normal.

Possible Spaniard and his best Frenchman friend seemed to share the same characteristics, too. The uniform, the strangely stereotypical appearance, the accent, even their personalities were exactly like those in racist jokes. Especially Possible Spaniard because he was really laid back about everything. It had been about ten minutes since I met the two and the Frenchman had acted romantic and perverse and Possible Spaniard had just not really given a shit.

"Alright..." I peered at my new maybe Spanish friend and nodded back at him. Something fucking weird was going on and even though I'm not one to question a good thing, it was time to revisit Jesus Lord of Flame and ask him a few questions.

"Oh, yeah, I'm Antonio, but everyone calls me Spain." he held out his hand happily. Things just kept getting weirder and weirder, but at least I knew he was a Spaniard now.

"I'm Czarina Schuben, but that's really fucking hard to say so to avoid sounding stupid, people call me Compton." my introduction was much less flattering, but I was in no mood for small talk. We shook hands for the longest time I'd ever shaken hands with anyone and then I decided it was time to ask Spain a question.

"I need you to come talk to something with me, okay?"

"Si, but first I forgot to tell you I made get well soon churros." just like that I was handed a basket full of warm, deep-fried, pastries for no apparent reason. But hey, who was I to question something this good? I was about to question the fleet of incredibly handsome men in my home, but give me a fatty Mexican pastry and fuck everything else.

A/N: so I finally figured out how to update through my iPhone! Totally not worth the trouble, but I don't give a shit! I hope you guys the new chapter, I wrote it in about fifteen minutes on a boat! Sorry for any grammar or spelling, I do all my writing on my phone and I'll put it in word when I get home to some actual Internet! Toodles bitches! You better review!


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